


Chlorine Dreams, the Law, and Technicalities

by counterheist



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, F/M, In a way, M/M, Multi, Prostitution, Spain is in it for the $$$, dat ass, hell if i know, sex is almost entirely implied
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-07
Updated: 2011-06-07
Packaged: 2017-11-22 20:12:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/613822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/counterheist/pseuds/counterheist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A cop’s gotta do what a cop’s gotta do. Or, Spain sleeps with everyone in the character list except Rome.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chlorine Dreams, the Law, and Technicalities

**Author's Note:**

> This should really be called _Memoirs of Spain, Undercover Cop Slash Pool Boy_ but that would make too much sense. I have no regrets. Oh yeah, and even though they’ve got country names they’re humans. I just didn’t feel like making up human names.

One minute you were giving the new recruit the customary Welcome to the Office Pat on the Ass ( _Spain’s traditional ass patting had continued on for far longer than anyone else’s had, strangely, hadn’t stopped in three years, but everyone had sworn it was normal so who was he to doubt them?_ ). The next minute you were seeing the Chief about a sexual harassment complaint.

The minute after that you weren’t just an officer anymore, you were an _undercover_ officer, and the Chief was handing you your new uniform and you wondered where the hell your gun was supposed to fit.

“Chief?”

“Yes, Officer Spain?”

“I still don’t understand why—”

The Chief twirled his pencil between two fingers. Spain had always wanted to learn how to do that. Whenever he tried he inevitably ended up having to smile his way through broken windows and smashed fishbowls and things like that. He’d sent up a suggestion note concerning adding spinning pencils to the Force’s weaponry list, but the Chief had yet to spring for them.

“Officer Spain…”

Spain nodded and resisted the urge to point to himself that had not faded since he’d started his training.

“You might be wondering if this is legal.”

Spain nodded.

“Or moral.”

Spain stopped nodding because his neck had started to hurt a bit. Instead he gave a smart, affirmative stare. More or less.

“Or even comfortable.”

Well, no, he wasn’t wondering if his new assignment was going to be comfortable; he was entirely sure it wasn’t. But Spain hadn’t joined the Force to be comfortable. He hadn’t joined the Force to fight crime either, nor to uphold justice. Spain had joined the force because it had a comparatively good benefits package, because they had been hiring when he had been unemployed, and because when he had been 15 his teacher had told him, before she had been fired, that he’d look good in the trademark skintight uniform pants.

There were worse reasons.

“I will dispel any concerns you have, right now.”

That was quick.

“This top secret assignment is neither completely legal, nor moral, nor comfortable but it’s an _order_ so **get out of my office**!” The Chief dropped his pencil under his desk. Spain assumed he hadn’t meant to do that because the Chief blushed when it hit the ground. “I will contact you with further orders every Tuesday.”

“Yes, sir!”

It was slippery slope indeed, Spain decided.

One day you were rushing out of the Chief’s office, trying to hide your new uniform from your peers. The next day you were pretending to run a pool cleaning business for the rich and criminal. The day after that your very first client, the suspected-of-this-that-and-the-kitchen-sink Greece, had his hand on your ass in a way reminiscent of, but still very _very_ different from, your coworkers.

“…Mr. Greece?”

“…Yes?”

Spain continued to sweep leaves out of the infinity pool. If he let them clog the filters he would have a pain of a mess to deal with. “Is that your hand?”

“…Yes?”

Oh. Strange. “Just checking! Do you mind moving it so I can go around to the other side of the pool?”

Greece contemplated something, Spain wasn’t sure what because Greece spent a lot of his time contemplating, it seemed, and it couldn’t all be about leaves in the filters, and removed his hand ( _after one last squeeze_ ).

Spain wondered what his mother would say if she could see him. She’d probably be surprised about the Officer of the Law part, she’d be really surprised about the Undercover Pool Boy part, and she’d be beside herself at how good of a businessman her son was turning out to be. Because Spain got three calls for work less than two hours after he left Greece’s expansive estate. And every caller had mentioned Greece.

The Chief had been ecstatic that Tuesday. “France? Monaco? The Italy brothers? This is it, Spain, this is _it_. We’ve been trying to catch these criminals for _years_. If you do your job well,” the Chief grinned, “you’ll get a key to the City of Europe in no time, just leave it to me. I can’t believe it… we’ll have enough evidence to bring Greece to trial. I’ll be the one to bring Greece to trial!…” Spain let his mind wander after that. The Chief’s rantings about trials and Greece were legend, and still nobody had managed to tell Spain what Greece had done worth being sent to jail for. Oh, everyone knew Greece and France and the Italy brothers and the rest of them were criminals. Spain was well aware. But only a few knew _why_ and Spain was not one of them.

“So I should accept?”

The Chief spat out his coffee. The spray landed on Spain’s shirt, but since he didn’t need it anyway for his undercover work, he didn’t really mind.

“Are you insane? Of course you should accept! Accept every offer you get!”

With that in mind, Spain made an appointment with France for that Thursday and was glad to see that France had landscaped in such a way that no leaves fell in his pool at all. It was pretty thoughtful, Spain felt. Almost as thoughtful as the compliments.

“I will pay you double if you let me make sweet, passionate love to you on the sun deck.” France adjusted his sunglasses. “Oh and do remember to check the chlorine levels, the last boy forgot to after I made him tremble in ecstasy. You know how it is.”

Spain didn’t, but assumed it wouldn’t hurt to pretend that he did. The Chief had told him, after an involuntary game of Twenty Questions that they wouldn’t have had to play if only Spain got to be debriefed properly like all the other officers ( _instead of having to drop his pants every meeting, why didn’t anyone else have to do that?_ ), that France was involved in a money laundering scheme. Maybe the sun deck had something to do with that? “That’s nice of you to say, Mr. France! I’ll get right on those chlorine levels.”

France didn’t let his face twitch because only the uncultured showed dismay in that way. Instead he stroked his beard. He liked stroking his beard almost as much as he liked screwing his pool boys, and this newest one had come highly recommended from Greece. “…of course.”

After France, Spain had had a Saturday appointment with the infamous Italy brothers.

Again, Spain wasn’t sure why the infamous Italy brothers were infamous, or what they had done wrong besides live together in an obscenely large mansion. Some of the other officers had whispered something about organized crime, but even though the grounds looked pretty organized, Spain couldn’t believe the two men before him would be involved in anything like that. For one, they were both a little on the scrawny side.

For two, they both carried an aura of ‘I’m allergic to pain’ alongside their auras of ‘we’re fucking rich’ and ‘do most brothers stand this close to each other’?

“So you don’t need your filters cleaned?”

The happy one laughed, and said “No!”

“And you don’t need the chemical levels tested?”

The angry one scowled, and said “Fuck you.”

“You just wanted to meet me and have a swim?”

Both brothers paused, arms around each other, before nodding.

Spain felt like he had died and gone to pool boy heaven. There were twins there.

The next day he visited Monaco’s high-rise condo, which office gossip said covered an illegal prostitution ring. It was hard to believe that Miss Monaco was really _Madame_ Monaco, though, when Spain spent half of the afternoon wondering how in the world she had gotten leaves in her filters on the 52nd story, and the other half getting things down for her from assorted high shelves.

When Spain told the Chief, the next Tuesday, about how he’d helped Miss Monaco open pickle jars instead of finding out whether she had a sex dungeon, the Chief smacked his fist on the table between them so hard that his coffee spilled and soaked Spain’s shorts. Now _that_ was a pity, because even if Spain didn’t need his shirt for his appointment later at Greece’s ( _all of his clients had scheduled weekly cleanings, except for France who had tried to schedule tri-weekly cleanings_ ), he definitely needed his uniform swim trunks.

Instead of apologizing, the Chief had told Spain to hurry up and get evidence.

Instead of being annoyed, Greece had suggested that it was warm enough that Spain didn’t need clothes anyway.

Upon later mental inspection, Spain decided that was where the figurative slope had had a bucket of soap poured on it. In the weeks to follow, his feet had flown right out from under him.

The change had started with Greece, naturally. Greece was the biggest criminal. The one the Chief was dying to get into court. The one with unsavory ties everywhere, inexplicable amounts of money, and really good homemade baklava that he brought out for Spain regularly. Greece was the one Spain was supposed to ask the most questions. Greece was _not_ the one Spain ended up asking the most questions, if only because the Italy brothers did so many questionable things like swim naked together, ask Spain to join in, and never actually need their pool cleaned ( _pool. boy. heaven_ ).

But Greece was the one who, after two weeks of weather too warm for swim trunks for either of them, had stood up from his seat on the edge of the deck, had pulled the net from Spain’s hand and had kissed Spain full on the mouth before casually stroking both of their dicks together.

Now.

_Now._

At first that had made Spain feel very, very good. In the way that hot food, long naps, and naked swims with nearly-identical overly-affectionate brothers did. Then it had made Spain feel a little dirty, because even though he hadn’t signed up for his job because of crime or justice, he still had a sense of Right, Wrong and Sleazy. And letting the crime lord you were covertly investigating do _that_ with his hand right _there_ definitely fell into the Sleazy category.

When Greece had given Spain a fairly good orgasm and an even better cash bonus for the sex, Spain remembered that he hadn’t signed up for his work because of crime or justice.

He’d signed up because he’d needed a job.

And because the benefits package was comparatively good.

And, looking at the number of banknotes he’d gotten just for ten measly minutes of mutual masturbation, Spain decided that there was nothing sleazy about finding a benefits package that was comparatively better. Besides, the Chief _had_ told Spain to accept every offer he got. The things the Chief said were like orders. And Spain had to follow orders.

And. And Miss Monaco tipped really well.

“Officer Spain!” Ten weeks later, Spain, and a group of other officers who got to wear as many clothes as they wanted, had gathered enough information to force Greece’s trial. The Chief had insisted that Spain could always pry more information out of his clients, though, so Spain had continued his pool cleaning. “What have you learned so far?”

Spain had also continued his fucking-by-the-pool-except-for-with-Miss-Monaco-who-was-picky-with-her-locations. He’d learned a lot more than he had ever anticipated ( _who knew the Italy brothers weren’t actually twins?_ ) in his second line of… work. But ‘I think I might have collected several new diseases in the past month, sir!’ was probably the wrong reply. “Greece is ticklish behind his knees, sir!”

The Chief blinked.

‘The Italy brothers are really coordinated when they want to be, sir!’ was an even worse follow-up, and in the awkward silence Spain hurried to cover his tracks. “That was how I found out about the entrance to the secret vault beneath the living room carpet! He was bending over to,” Spain caught himself, “pet one of his cats. And he tripped the switch.”

“Good work, Officer Spain!” The Chief blinked again, but not in an ‘I’m Suspicious of You’ way. Spain was in the clear. “There will be a lot of important people at the trial, some of whom I would like you to include in your clientele. Now, if I had my way you wouldn’t be allowed anywhere near the trial, in order to preserve your cover, but you need to meet these people somewhere.”

“You want me to go to the trial as a pool cleaner?”

“Exactly.”

“Okay!” Spain wondered how many pool boys found work at high-profile criminal trials. Maybe France would be able to whisper in someone’s ear. If Spain asked him to, France would whisper in anyone’s ear; Spain had discovered France really liked doing that.

France sighed when Spain caught him in one of the less crowded edges of the courthouse, during the trial’s first recess, but he reluctantly agreed to spread Spain’s number around after Spain compromised with bi-weekly pool cleanings. Spain could tell that France didn’t want to be left out, that was all ( _he wondered if France had ever met the Italy brothers but decided that introduction could wait_ ).

“Thanks, Mr. France!”

“I can’t believe you would need any clients other than myself to satisfy you. And your business needs.”

“Sorry. You’re really good at giving blowjobs. If that helps.”

“It’s fine.” France eyed a few lingering journalists. “You aren’t so bad either.”

On France’s recommendation, Spain invited himself over to the home of the mysterious Mr. Turkey the very next day. France had said that Mr. Turkey wouldn’t mind. Spain wasn’t sure if he believed that when he was met at the door with the barrel of a revolver, but he calmed down after Turkey laughed it off and invited him in for some apple tea.

“I don’t have a pool, if you’ve noticed, but if France sent you that’s not why you’re here, is it?”

Turkey liked grinning, Spain noticed after a few minutes. He liked grinning as much as Greece liked staring off into the distance. Thinking about Greece made Spain feel a little dirty again, but for a different reason than the first time. After doing some reading Spain had found out about the Feud of Epic Proportions between Greece and Turkey, and if there was one thing customer loyalty entailed it was probably not passing on any of the diseases you had gotten from France the week earlier. And not sleeping with your first benefactor’s enemy.

There was something about Turkey that Spain didn’t really like, anyway. He would say it had been a mistake and leave.

“It isn’t, but—”

It wasn’t very fair of Turkey to kiss him, then, but Spain was never one to back down. When he stumbled out of Turkey’s mansion six hours later on shaky legs, he wondered if that whole not backing down thing was going to get him into trouble. Especially as Turkey had procured the Force’s uniform from somewhere and had offered to pay Spain double for a little bit of dress up. Who knew the terrible Mr. Turkey had a thing for cops disciplining him for going slightly over the speed limit?

But Spain didn’t have time to dwell on Turkey’s fetishes, or how participating in them felt like he was betraying Greece ( _especially since, as The Sexy Traffic Cop, Spain had had to say things like ‘at least you drive better than that little bastard Greece’_ ). Turkey had been so pleased with Spain’s… pool cleaning… that he had given Spain an address and had told him to head there immediately.

Spain’s slope had gotten slipperier than a Slip n’ Slide, and he only knew what those were because Monaco and two of her ‘employees’ who hadn’t properly introduced themselves had taken Spain to a secluded garden to use one. Except with chocolate sauce instead of water. It had been messy; Spain hadn’t envied the gardening boy.

An older woman opened the door of the modest house Turkey’s directions led to. She looked Spain over quickly, looked up and down the street, and then pulled Spain into her home by his belt buckle. In retrospect, Spain shouldn’t have been surprised. Turkey _had_ been the one to mention her. By the time she let Spain leave he had earned his next month’s rent, he had solved the being unable to walk properly problem, and he also had a covered plate of baklava just because he had told her he’d been getting hungry. That had been nice of her.

“Officer, Spain! Your report?”

By the next week the trial was in full swing and Spain had gone to see Turkey and Turkey’s acquaintance two more times. He hadn’t learned anything from the woman, but he’d found a yachtful of drugs at Turkey’s. Spain probably had to call him out on that one.

“Did you know the Italy brothers have another brother?”

Or he could ease into the subject of Turkey.

“They do?”

Or ignore it completely.

“Seborga. He was studying abroad for the last two years, and they never mention him because they’re ashamed of him. But he looks just like them!”

“Is he involved in their nefarious dealings as well?”

Spain flashed back to the day he had learned that his former vision of pool boy heaven was only the beginning. “Yes. _Yes he is_.”

“Listen, Officer Spain, I want you to concentrate your efforts on the Greece case for now. Unless any of your leads with the Italy brothers lead to their grandfather.”

“Rome?” Even Spain knew that Rome was bad news.

The Chief laughed. Two tables over a little girl started crying as a result. “That’s right. _Rome_.”

It turned out that none of the Italy brothers wanted to talk about their grandfather, not even when Spain asked directly. He didn’t know if it helped or hindered his investigation that he asked in the middle of trying to balance on one leg and keep track of three other bodies at the same time ( _pool. boy. hhnnnngggggg_ ).

The angry brother kicked at Spain from his position face down on the pool deck. “Dammit, I never want to hear about that bastard ever again!”

The happy brother began spontaneously crying. “Ve h-h-h-he died so long ago…”

While the surprisingly-not-twin Italy brothers clutched at each other for comfort and because there wasn’t much else they could do without toppling Spain too, Seborga let Spain’s cock slip from his mouth. He might have been doing some signaling and muffled shouting prior to that, but Spain didn’t notice anything until Seborga said, “Grandpa’s not dead, no way! I saw him at the trial two weeks ago, I did, I really di— _ahhh_.”

“Get your mouth ba— I mean, can you point him out to me at the next session?”

Seborga nodded and Spain felt angels sing. “Mmmmhh!”

The man Seborga pointed out was tall, muscular, rather hairy, and far too energetic for anyone to miss, even in a crowded room. That no one, other than Seborga, was paying him any special attention in the courthouse was a mark of skill. Or a mark that Spain was horrifically unobservant and couldn’t even notice half of the room pretending not to notice a man who didn’t want to be noticed but who was failing badly.

Spain introduced himself with a pat on the ass, to be friendly, and his name. “Hello, my name is Spain. I’m a _pool boy_. Are you Rome?”

Rome backed away into a corner of the hallway, near the men’s room, hands up in defense. “My name isn’t Rome! It’s R—… It’s Malta.”

“You don’t look like a Malta.”

“That’s who I am, though, kid. Malta.” Malta took Spain’s hand and kissed the back of it. So much for being defensive. “I’m from the Mediterranean township and I don’t know anything about all these big City of Europe dealings.” He winked.

Oh. Made sense. “Then why are you here?”

A familiar voice hurled an accusation at ‘Malta’s’ head. It missed his ear by two inches and stuck into the wall behind him right between the legs of the stick figure above the word ‘Men’s’. “He’s here because he’s Greece’s father.”

Every newscaster swiveled at the word Greece. They began salivating at the word that followed. Greece himself, back from a coffee run and standing conveniently behind Rome, dropped the drink he had been carrying. It spilled all over his suit legs but he didn’t care. There was something more important standing right in front of him, trying to murder Rome with her eyes. Not dead, like he’d thought since he was a child. “Mother?”

Spain felt the ‘I feel dirty’ tingle rise in the back of his throat as he looked from Turkey’s acquaintance to Greece and back again. “She’s your _mother_?”

The bathroom door opened, and the angry Italy brother flew out from behind it. He bypassed his grandfather and waggled his finger underneath Greece’s nose. “He’s your father? But he’s _our_ grandfather!”

“You age really well.”

Greece spared Spain a moment of eye contact. “Thank you.” After that moment his eyes were riveted to his mother’s in a way that was both painful and slightly awkward for himself and everyone around him. “Mother I thought you were dead. Why…?”

“Because,” Turkey also walked out of the bathroom, albeit with much more poise than the angry Italy brother, “she didn’t ever want to see you again, twerp.”

“You.”

“ _Me._ ”

Greece grabbed Turkey by his tie. “ _You._ ”

Turkey returned the favor. “ _ **Me**_.”

So entwined, they fell to the floor together when the happy Italy brother shot out of the women’s restroom, bowled them over, and jumped into Rome’s arms. “Grandpa you aren’t dead!”

“Grandson!” Rome picked up the two Italy brothers in his arms and swung them in a slow circle. Spain admired his biceps, because even though the Italy brothers were slightly scrawny, they were still fully grown men. “I missed you two so much. How about a picture with Grandpa?”

While one brother tried to hug everyone near him and the other tried running for his life, the third stood next to them and attempted to tug on Rome’s coat without being pulled into the maelstrom. “…what about me?”

Seborga didn’t stand a chance, however, but instead of the tiled floor he landed on someone who never minded a body on top of him. France ran his fingers down Seborga’s chest while he watched every other criminal slash benefactor of Spain the Pool Boy he was on neutral-to-good terms with attempt to shout him or herself hoarse. It was fortuitous that the third Italy brother had landed where he did, really. France hated losing composure in front of the press, but he did love a good squabble.

Monaco did not. “Am I the only one who knew neither of them were dead?”

Apparently. Greece stopped trying to strangle Turkey as much as he had been trying to strangle Turkey before Monaco spoke. His jaw dropped. “How?”

Spain took that as his cue to retreat. Pool boys didn’t belong at trials, and pool boys sleeping with their clients definitely didn’t belong in a dogpile of their sex clients unless their sex clients had asked for it. And this time none of them had, even though France didn’t look like he would mind. “I’m just going to…”

It was all a slippery slope, Spain decided, and his slope had been coated with self-warming lubricant all the way down to rock bottom.

“Officer Spain, do you need backup?”

Everything stopped.

“Officer?”

Shit.

**Author's Note:**

> Because Spain would be a great undercover cop slash pool boy, hush. And because I could. And because this is the sort of thing I do instead of work on WIPs.
> 
> “nearly-identical overly-affectionate brothers”: yes, yes, this goes as a catchall statement for Out of Character, what’s that? I take refuge in the genre. This was based off of telenovela musings. Blame goes there. I also take refuge in plugging my ears and going _nah nah nah nah nahhhh._
> 
> Although the pool boy heaven thing is more of a shout-out to [this pixiv tag](http://www.pixiv.net/tags.php?tag=%E8%A6%AA%E5%88%86%E3%83%9B%E3%82%A4%E3%83%9B%E3%82%A4) than anything.
> 
>  **Also:** abrupt ending is abrupt


End file.
